


Should've Said No

by DumpsterDiving101, WhiteCeilings



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Break Up, Break Up Talk, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is 18, Peter just isn't ready for a relationship, Post-Break Up, Power Imbalance, Stream of Consciousness, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark is not abusive, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Whump, no tony bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCeilings/pseuds/WhiteCeilings
Summary: Peter breaks up with Tony, and reflects on why their relationship was doomed from the start.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	Should've Said No

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This story felt very important for me to write, both because of events going on in my life and because of some of the problems inherent in the Starker relationship. I wrote this story with the hopes that both Starker shippers and non-shippers could enjoy it, so there will be no character bashing! Enjoy!
> 
> Mild TWs for unhealthy relationships and coping methods. While the relationship portrayed is in no way abusive, if you're sensitive to that type of thing you might want to proceed with caution.
> 
> Additional note: this says it was co-written by DumpsterDiving101 and WhiteCeilings. Those are both of my accounts. They are both me. We are one.

Peter breaks up with Tony on a Tuesday. It’s been gray and dreary all month, and it’s raining when Peter tells him. They’re outside. People bustle past them on the sidewalk, but there’s enough room for them to stand against the building and talk, and everyone’s in enough of a rush to get where they’re going that Peter isn’t worried about people overhearing. They’re in their own bubble; their own world. 

When Peter tells him, Tony just nods slowly. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hoodie, more casual than Peter ever thought he’d see the legend of Tony Stark in, and Peter feels a sting of regret for doing this outside. Like this, he can’t see Tony’s eyes, doesn’t know what he’s feeling. 

When Peter planned this— and he did plan this, has been planning this the entirety of the last week— he thought he’d tell Tony in his workshop. That was the plan: tell a Tony in the workshop, where they would have privacy, and Tony would have an outlet for any negative emotions. But then they were walking back from dinner and Peter kept imagining it and thinking about how small the workshop makes him feel, thinning about those four walls, and the idea of being  _ trapped _ there with an angry Tony, and he knew Tony wouldn’t be angry, knew Tony would never hurt him, but— but—

He just couldn’t do it. 

So he pulled Tony aside just outside the tower, fidgeting with the rolled-up paper straw in his pocket, said “I’ve been thinking”, and then did his best to explain. He didn’t feel like this relationship needed to continue. He didn’t like having to hide. He was leaving for college soon. And Tony—

Tony understood. 

Or at least, he claimed to. He nodded, agreed, made it sound like he was letting Peter off easy, at least until Peter said the thing about college, because then Tony’s gaze snapped up to meet his even through the glasses, and Peter nearly took a step back. “Long-distance isn’t an issue for me,” Tony said sincerely. “I can use the suit to fly over and visit you. Or send a plane for you to come visit me. Or… shit, New York’s too crowded anyway, I was thinking of moving the Tower. We could bring it to Bost… ah. I see.”

By that, of course, he meant he saw the way Peter cringed back at the thought. It was just… they hadn’t even been dating that long, just a couple months, and Tony was willing to uproot  _ everything  _ to be with Peter. It was a lot of pressure, and Peter wasn’t sure if he could ever live up to the expectations Tony’d set for him. Sure, Tony said he liked him now, but what about a year from now? Two years? Peter may have accepted the idea that Tony could like him, but the idea that Tony could  _ love  _ him? For… for good? For keeps? For  _ life?  _ Even he wasn’t that delusional. 

The rest of the conversation had been awkward, horrible. It ended with Tony telling Peter he wished him the best, and that he could always come to him if he needed anything. “Anything at all, kid, you know that.” Peter smiled at him, small, and was half ready to walk away when Tony opened his arms for a hug. Peter gave it to him. Peter gave him the hug, because Peter was already taking so much away from him, and he couldn’t take this too. 

Then Peter left. Walked away from the tower, hands in his hoodie pockets, one of them still playing with the little straw wrapper. He slipped into the crowd of people, just another person with their hoodie up and eyes down, watching the pools of rainwater dribbled down the sidewalk and into the storm drain. Someone bumped him, and then another, and Peter was stuck in between being irritated at the touch and wanting more. He never wanted to be touched again. He wanted touch more than anything in the world. 

It occurred to him, as he walked, that he could turn around. Tony couldn’t have gone far— Peter could catch up! Tell him he didn’t mean him, it was a test or a game, or, or… shit, he could make something up, couldn’t he? He could lie. He was good at lying. He’d been lying their entire relationship. 

Peter made a right turn, not because it led him where he needed to go, but because it made him feel less like Tony’s eyes were digging a hole in the back of his skull, Phineas Gage style. It was hardly raining anymore, and Peter glanced up at the sky, gray like smudged pencil lead. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. 

He’d been lying...basically the entire relationship. Not about everything. He  _ did  _ like Tony, the way he talked, the way he made him laugh. He liked Tony’s mind, and sure, he’d liked the way Tony looked. He’d had a crush on him forever, and it only got worse when he met him in person. He wanted to feel Tony’s calloused hands on his bare skin, wanted to feel his lips. He’d never kissed anyone before Tony, but he thought it’d be nice. Surely, it’d be nice, right? Otherwise, people would stop doing it. 

But when they kissed for the first time… it just wasn’t what Peter expected. It was good, yes. A little forced, maybe. He’d been sitting on Tony’s couch after their first date, watching Tony prepare drinks in the kitchen, and he’d been worried Tony was going to pour him wine or something. Peter was too young for wine, had promised May he wouldn’t drink until he was of age, and he was scared Tony would make him remind him. Peter already felt out of place enough; he didn’t want to have to remind Tony just how severe the age gap was. 

Tony had noticed, though. He’d come over to Peter on the couch, gave him his glass— orange juice,  _ just  _ orange juice— and asked Peter what was wrong. 

_ Nothing.  _

_ Are you sure?  _

_ I just… I guess I’m just stressed. In general, like about homework and… stuff. Not you.  _

__ Tony’d chuckled, and it made Peter feel a little better. He sat up a little more, unwinding. He thought that now, Tony would ask him about his homework, and Peter could complain and talk about his crazy math teacher and maybe ask for help, and this could be more normal, more like the other times they’d spent together before Peter suggested he might want to go on a date—

But then, Tony didn’t ask him about his homework. Instead, he put his arm on the back of the couch, leaning in, almost leaning  _ over  _ Peter. He’d said “I have an idea how to get you to relax,” and then he’d leaned in and kissed Peter. 

And Peter…

Peter didn’t know what to do. 

So he kissed back. Sloppily. Badly. It wasn’t good, didn’t feel  _ good,  _ and Peter had always thought that kissing was more stimulating, that it would make him feel more like he felt when masturbating, he didn’t know… but this wasn’t like that. It wasn’t bad. Just… he didn’t understand it. 

Tony’s pulled back, and for a second Peter felt humiliated, because he’d fucked up. But Tony was smiling, and he had that little gleam in his eyes that he always got when he discovered a new project to work on… a new problem to fix. 

_ Was that your first kiss? _

__ Peter’d stuttered. Fumbled over his words. His cheeks were bright red, and he just felt awful, because Tony didn’t deserve this, but Tony just laughed and kissed him again. And again. And again. And somewhere along the way, Peter learned a rhythm, and he figured out some of what he liked, and what he didn’t like, though he didn’t tell Tony about those pieces quite yet. 

Tony kissed Peter a lot. All the time. Whenever they were together, in private, and he thought he could get away with it. Peter liked the attention, though he still wasn’t sure how he felt about kissing. 

Yeah, Peter’d been lying for a long, long time. 

Peter turned down another road, and another. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but he let his feet take him where they wanted. Soon, he was on a subway, headed northeast towards Queens. Sure, he’d go home. Might as well. 

He was supposed to stay the night at Tony’s. At dinner, Tony had asked him what he wanted to do: a movie, maybe, or they could work in the lab? Or, Tony’d suggested, nudging at Peter’s ankle under the table, they could do something  _ different.  _

__ Peter had told him he wasn’t sure. Peter had told him they should decide back at the Tower, as if they would  _ actually go back to the Tower.  _ As if Peter didn’t know what he was going to tell Tony after dinner. 

Yeah, he was a pretty bad liar. 

The subway was pretty empty, so Peter got a seat by a railing. He instinctively took his phone out of his pockets to play Color Switch, then stuffed it back in. He just broke up with someone; he shouldn’t just go back on his phone like it never happened. He should respect the relationship by mourning for at least a subway ride. 

So Peter looked up, letting his gaze glaze over so he wouldn’t stare at the people there. He felt… he wasn’t sure. He felt too many things. There was some relief, but it was short-lived. Mostly, there was dread, though he wasn’t sure what for. There was peace too, but not a good kind of peace, more like… like the silence that follows a battle. The worst is over, but that means that you survived the  _ worst,  _ and now you have to pick up the pieces. 

Movement catches his eye, and then he’s staring at a little kid swinging around one of the handrails like it’s a playground. The kid’s all bundled up in a blue coat, polka-dotted rain boots and mittens, and their mom’s typing on her phone, not watching. The kid spins around the handrail like the least coordinated stripper ever, then falls on their butt and laughs, looking straight at Peter. 

Peter smiles. He smiles, because it’s a kid, and it’s funny, but then he makes himself stop. He just broke up with someone. He shouldn’t smile. 

The sky is less gray when Peter gets off, but it started raining again. Peter doesn’t quite understand how that works, and for a second he thinks  _ I bet Tony knows  _ before shuddering. He has to stop having those thoughts; Tony might know, but so does Google. It doesn’t have to be an issue. 

Wait,  _ can  _ Peter even text Tony anymore? Or is that weird? Tony was his mentor before he was his boyfriend, but now that he’s not the latter, does that mean he can’t be the former? Tony was going to write him a letter of recommendation for work. Is that off the table now? 

Maybe Peter should go back to him…

He shoves that thought away, almost bodily, and makes himself keep walking. It’d be faster to swing home, but he’s not in his spidey suit and he feels too sick to anyway. Somewhere between dinner and now, his stomach twisted itself up in a bow, and he thinks that if he were to go swinging now, it’d just make it worse. It might also make it better, though; swinging usually does. There’s something about putting that mask on and disappearing into his own skin that always soothed Peter’s mind. 

Tony felt the same way about the Iron Man suit.  _ When I put it on… I feel invincible,  _ he would say.  _ I don’t know. It probably doesn’t make sense. _

__ It made all the sense in the world to Peter, though he wasn’t sure why Tony Stark of all people needed to feel invincible. He was the exact opposite of what Peter imagined as  _ vulnerable.  _ He had a family, a job, a life he was well-defined in. Money. Team of lawyers. Big, metal suit. What was it that Tony felt he needed to stay safe from?

It wasn’t like Tony was self-conscious, either. He acted like it, sometimes, making jokes about how ugly the scar over his chest was, about how he was old, average looking. Peter didn’t see it, and he told Tony as much. Then Tony would transform, all his insecurities dripping away and being replaced by what was practically a  _ skin  _ of confidence. 

_ You’re so good to me. _

__ That was usually when he’d kiss him. He’d get up close in Peter’s space, maybe take him by the neck, or even sit on his lap, straddle him, pin him… and then kiss him, at whatever rate he wanted to. Slowly. Languid. Or fast, desperate, hot, teeth clacking and tongues running into each other,  _ wet wet wet _ , a hand pushed under Peter’s shirt to the sensitive part of his back that  _ no one else ever touches,  _ and Peter would squirm under his grip, and sometimes Tony would move his hand but other times he wouldn’t even  _ notice,  _ or maybe he just thought it was funny, or maybe he thought it meant Peter  _ liked it  _ even though he didn’t, and he would just keep  _ touching _ and  _ touching _ and  _ touching _ him. Now, as Peter walked home, fully clothed and covered, he could feel Tony’s handprints covering his body. It was as if Tony’s flesh had been covered in paint, and with every date and meeting and project and  _ mission _ Tony smeared more of his paint over Peter, intent to cover him entirely. And now, Peter was bright green. He’d been touched all over, touched so  _ fucking much,  _ so much so that nothing was safe, nothing off-limit. Green paint filled the space in between his toes; it was smeared over the backs of his knees; his elbows, his armpits; green paint poured from his scalp, dripping over his face and into his mouth, where it congealed, choking him with paint. 

Maybe Peter would find someone else. Eventually, he likely would. Probability suggested it. But what would they think, when they saw the paint? When they saw how Tony had taken him in— touched him all over— leaving not an inch of empty skin? What would they say? What would they  _ think _ ? 

Was Peter used goods? 

The thought made his mind crumple like a ball of aluminum foil; it made his throat close up, and  _ fuck _ , he could barely breathe. How was he supposed to get home like this? How was he supposed to go anywhere past this? How was he supposed to do anything,  _ be  _ anything, ever again? 

When he got to the apartment, he made a beeline for his room. May was in the kitchen, but she didn’t see the redness in his face as he bolted past her. “Peter? I thought you were spending the night at Tony’s—”

“No, I think you have the days confused,” Peter said, fighting to keep the strain from showing in his voice. “I’m going to— work on homework! Goodnight, May!”

She said something else, but by that point Peter was already in his room, pressing his back up against the door as the panic rose and rose and rose. What was he supposed to do? He’d completely fucked this up, he should never have dated Tony, and then when did he never should have  _ left  _ Tony. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Now everything was gone, everything was over, there was nothing and there never would be again, no scholarships and no letters of recommendation and no dinners at fancy restraints and no one’s hand on his shoulder, no one bringing him water while he worked and no one to ask about homework, no one no one no one no one! He was all alone, just him, and… and…

Tony’d been willing to move to Boston for him. He’d looked at Peter like he was the sun and all the stars, every sunset and every sunrise, and Peter had told him  _ I don’t want you.  _ Why did Peter break up with him in the first place? He could’ve managed the bad parts. He could’ve gotten used to the kissing. The touching. The way Tony loomed. The way he looked at him like he was something he wanted to devour, like Peter was a quail egg and Tony was a python who could unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole. 

Every time they went out together, Tony paid. Peter always offered, and Tony always refused, until Peter stopped offering. The offers had been empty, anyways. Peter couldn’t afford the type of places Tony brought him to. 

And every time Peter mentioned a problem in his life, Tony tried to fix it. His headphones were broken,  _ boom _ : here’s some brand new ones, that won’t even work if you don’t charge them first. His calculus book made no sense,  _ boom _ : here’s an online tutoring service,  _ though if you want, I can just help you with your homework. We’ll see how long I can keep my focus before you’re too distracting… _

Peter stopped asking Tony for help with Calculus. The worst feeling in the world, he was sure, was thinking about differential equations and feeling fingers sliding against your waistband. 

On some levels, Peter  _ hated  _ Tony. He was so possessive it made Peter sick. He wasn’t even jealous, per se; he just wanted to own everything about Peter, his time and mind and body. Even more so, Tony acted like they were already his. He could ask Peter any question and expect an answer. Request Peter’s words at any time of the day. Touch him anywhere, and expect blushing and pleasant acceptance. 

Once, they were watching the new Star Wars movie and Tony put his hands on Peter’s belt. He toyed with it, messing around like he intended to undo it. Never quite removing it, like he was waiting for Peter’s permission. Peter didn’t give it. He wouldn’t give it; but, if Tony undid it anyways, Peter wouldn’t stop him. If Tony unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, let his wandering hands into Peter’s pants and boxers to explore and see what he could find, Peter  _ wouldn’t tell him no,  _ even if it made his entire body tense up in fear at just the thought, and Peter hated him, he hated him! He hated every fucking inch of the man who  _ took,  _ and  _ took,  _ and  _ took,  _ like Peter was an acre of land Tony had bought full price and could do with what he pleased. 

Peter hated him so goddamn much. 

And, even more so, he hated himself. Because he was the one to ask. He was the one to pursue Tony because he thought he knew what he wanted. He didn’t. He didn’t have a clue. 

He hated himself for letting it go on this long. 

He hated himself for letting it happen in the first place. 

He hated himself for being so damn complacent. So many times, he’d lied, saying he just wasn’t feeling well, he wasn’t in the mood,  _ I’m just not feeling it today,  _ but if Tony pushed he never said no. He should’ve said no. Could’ve. Tony would’ve respected it. But then Tony would’ve known the truth: that Peter wasn’t nearly as into the things they did as Tony thought he was. That Peter’d been lying. That Peter’d been raping himself with Tony’s hands. And that… well, Peter just never could’ve let him know that. 

Maybe Peter should’ve said no. 

Peter laid down on his bed, hands under his head. His cheeks were wet from crying, though he was doing his best to keep it down for May’s sake. He just felt like such a piece of shit, and he didn’t know if it would ever go away. 

He thought of that afternoon when he’d gotten ready for the date, knowing that it would be their last. He’d looked in the mirror, and imagined himself with a black eye, bruised cheek. He’d imagined what he would do if Tony turned violent, lashing out and hitting him because of how Peter took advantage. He imagined what he’d do, how he’d dodge the hit, return it with one of his own, kick Tony in the crotch. Shove him down. Scream, as people gathered around, yelling about how it was Tony’s fault, how Tony swung first. He’d fantasized about Tony beating him, because at least then he could pretend Tony was an evil man with bad intentions from the start. But, Tony hadn’t hit him. Tony would never hit him. 

Peter almost wishes he had. He wishes he had the marks to prove how much shit he’d gone through in the past few months, instead of just having this feeling of emptiness, of  _ use.  _ He’d given himself away, as cheap and easy as a carnival prize, and Tony had  _ taken him  _ with open arms. 

He should’ve just said no. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought. 
> 
> Lately I've been trying to write a lot of romance, which hasn't worked at all, mostly because I recent;y went through a pseudo-breakup, and have been dealing with a lot of the same stuff Peter has in this fic. Therefore, this fic was incredibly important for me to write, both to untangle some of my own thoughts and to get out of the habit of writing fics that I don't relate to. I hope you appreciate the vulnerability, and that it made some people feel something. 
> 
> I don't necessarily have anything against Starker, but I think it's unfair how many fics are out there that don't acknowledge the obvious difficulties in having a relationship like theirs. A power imbalance is inevitable, and most of the time, that's going to lead to a not-very-healthy relationship. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you thought, how you liked the fic, and whether or not you're a fan of Starker. I'm excited to hear what you think!


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